


The Stitches or the Devouring Mouth

by nevertrustakobold



Series: William No [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Fae manipulation, Gen, Minor Injuries, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertrustakobold/pseuds/nevertrustakobold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Kirin's request, Will goes to meet him to go over the events of the previous day, and to discuss his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the Richard Siken poem You Are Jeff. alternate titles for this fic include "William in Wonderland", and "how the lion fell in love with the lamb" (because who /doesnt/ love terrible twilight references), both courtesy of the lovely -themadhatter-. thanks for those, friend. this turned out much longer than i expected, so it's been broken into two chapters, at the suggestion of much wiser people than i. once again, many many thanks to both -themadhatter- and sparxflame for being my betas; you guys were a godsend.

Will wakes to a crash from the kitchen. Though not the most pleasant of wake-up calls, it’s one he’s become quite accustomed to in his time spent living with his uncle, and much like with the dwarvish swearing that follows moments later, it no longer makes him jump. As he lies on his side, room coming slowly into focus as the last vestiges of sleep gradually creep away, he marvels at how well-rested he feels. Should he chalk it up to a near-death experience the day before? It _had_ been a pretty trying day.

He stretches leisurely, then sits up with a groan, feeling his blanket pool around his waist as he does so. He isn’t thrilled to see that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, but he doesn't have time to focus on that; his attention is diverted almost instantly by the blanket he’s apparently spent the night under. While a restful night’s sleep and waking up in his clothes are both quite unusual for him, he has to admit that this blanket is by far the oddest thing he’s ever woken up to, and not only because it definitely isn't his. Silky and soft, it stretches partially off his bed, dusky blue in colour and edged with a shimmery azure trim. Embroidered on it is an intricate scene in heavy shining brocade, depicting herds of russet deer cavorting in a brilliantly green summer forest.

The blanket is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, thick and heavy, and soft under his curious finger; even the brocade, which by all rights should have felt stiff and a little sharp, is smooth and pliable. It’s also not made of any kind of cloth he’s ever encountered before. He isn’t even sure that it _is_ cloth - it doesn’t feel woven, and he can’t see any individual threads - but he can’t think of anything else a blanket could be made of. Whatever it is, it’s supple and warm and ever so slightly translucent, so that when he holds it up to the window, the early morning sunlight filtering through it turns a colour reminiscent of the summer sky at high noon.

Rubbing sleepy eyes, Will puts it aside for now. It’s too early in the morning for anything as complicated as the blanket’s mysterious appearance. It’s beautiful, and exquisitely-crafted, and that’s all he knows for now; the rest of his analysis can come after he’s had breakfast.

From downstairs he can smell bacon cooking, which means that Honeydew is up, as well as the enticing scent of brewing coffee. Xephos and the household don’t drink coffee - they prefer tea - but Will loves it, so they’ve had a pot of it ready for him every morning without fail ever since he’d mentioned in passing that he missed having it with breakfast.

This particular morning, the smells of bacon and coffee are mingling with the heavenly aroma of Xephos’s homemade cinnamon buns, and Will’s mouth waters at the wafts of sweet, cinnamony air rising through the house. Whatever disaster had struck the kitchen seems to have subsided, if the reduction in both dwarven cursing and raining cutlery are anything to go by, so Will deems it safe to head down.

He arrives to find a sleepy Lalna sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, half-sprawled across the shiny countertop and with an entire arm curled protectively around a steaming mug of tea. In the kitchen he can see Honeydew on a step-stool engaged in his usual weekend-morning exercise of frying an entire piglet’s-worth of bacon on a single giant pan, and next to him, Xephos is carefully measuring out sugar for icing. He looks up as Will walks in, setting down his measuring cup in a little puff of white.

 **"** Will! Good morning! How are you? The cinnamon buns still have a few minutes to go, I’m afraid, but the coffee should be about done, and if you're really hungry there’s raspberries. Lalna, give your cousin his bowl, and stop stealing everyone else’s; you've had quite enough. And get off the counter, for god’s sake; this is a house, not a zoo. If you’re that tired you can go back to bed.”

Lalna grumbles a bit, but straightens up incrementally, and pushes a bowl from the middle of the table towards Will with a, “Here ya go, cuz.” However, the moment Xephos turns around to root through the cabinets for his next ingredient, he slumps straight back down, reaching over to steal a few more raspberries from a different bowl with a wink at Will and a theatrical shushing gesture. Popping them in his mouth he returns to his phone, which Will hadn’t previously noticed. Without even trying, Will can tell that he’s texting the Other Lalna, gloating at the fact that he’s getting Patented Premium Xephos Cinnamon Buns. Other Lalna is put out and indignant, and promising elaborate revenge.

Leaving them to it, Will wanders over to the coffee pot that had been dug out of the basement upon his arrival to the household, and pours himself a steaming cup. He doesn’t mind tea too much, but a hot sweet cup of coffee in the morning just scratches some mental itch that no tea has ever been able to reach. He takes a sip and closes his eyes, savouring the heat and the kick of energy it provides. Truly, there’s just nothing like it.

He wanders over to Honeydew and watches for a while as the dwarf expertly maneuvers the sizzling bacon around the pan. Honeydew doesn’t look up at his approach, unable to divert any attention from what he’s doing, but his eyes crinkle into a smile.

 “Good morning lad. You look happy today. Wild night yesterday, with the whole house to yourself?”

An involuntary shiver races across Will’s skin at the memory, as his mind flashes with _lost-alone-surrounded-dissolving-lost_ , and he has to bite his tongue to bring himself back. Luckily Honeydew is still facing the stove, so it goes unnoticed, giving Will a moment to compose himself and find a less worrying answer.

“It was alright. Pretty tame, really. I spent most of the day in bed.” There, that wasn’t a lie, right?

Honeydew laughs and spares a momentary hand to clap him on the shoulder.

“In bed, eh? I don’t know, sounds pretty wild to me!”

“I- Not like- I didn’t- That’s not what I meant.” Will is bright red, and Honeydew just chuckles and starts unloading bacon onto a pre-prepared plate, watching the grease bubble and steam as it soaks into the paper towel beneath it.

“No need to work yourself up, I was only joking; ‘s none of my business anyways.” He reaches out and snags a couple pieces of bread front the breadbox on the counter and tosses them onto the pan, then gestures at the plate of bacon with his spatula. “Be a good boy and pop that on the table, would you? I’ve just got to finish up here.”

Will grabs the plate with shaking hands and hastily makes his escape from the kitchen, aiming for the dining table. Lalna's still at the island, snickering at something that Other Lalna has just sent him, and has remained blissfully unaware of Will’s latest moment of embarrassment. He zeroes in on the bacon in Will’s hands the moment he walks by, and tries to snag a piece, but Xephos’s voice is quick to remind him that breakfast is a family affair, so _obviously_ he wasn’t about to eat without them, right? So Lalna has to settle for stealing a few more of Xephos's raspberries, and slurping his tea unnecessarily loudly to broadcast his displeasure. When Will laughs, he sticks out his tongue at him, and steals some of _his_ berries as well, stuffing most into his cheek but saving one to fling it at him.

His shot goes wide, bouncing off the back of Xephos’s head and bouncing neatly down the back of his jumper. They both freeze, eyes locked on the small red fruit in mutual terror, each ready to denounce and blame the other, but by some mercy of the universe Xephos remains oblivious. They look back at each other, and the rush of relief combined with the look of narrowly-avoided death proves too much for them, pushing them over the edge as they both burst out laughing. Xephos gives them a confused look but that just makes them laugh harder, Lalna having to grab wildly for the counter as he almost falls off his stool, and Will choking on a raspberry. The sudden beep of the oven timer going off startles them both, and this time Lalna isn’t quick enough to react, overbalancing and tumbling gracelessly to the floor where he stays curled up on his side, gasping in silent laughter.

Will hurries over to offer him a hand up, but he’s so unsteady on his feet that Lalna almost pulls him down on top of him before he finally manages to pull him back to his feet. They’re both gasping for breath when they collapse back on their stools, having passed through laughter and come out on some other side, hiccuping like idiots and bursting into uncontrolled giggles every few seconds.

By the time the buns are iced and ready to eat, they have managed to get themselves mostly under control, although it's a fragile, precarious kind of control, and they still can’t look each other in the eyes without laughing. Everyone takes their places around the table and there’s a collective sigh as everyone takes their first bites; Will’s never been certain of what’s in them - Xephos guards the recipe with all the ferocity of a mother bear protecting her cubs - but they’re sinfully good, and he wouldn't be surprised to learn that there’s some kind of heavy-duty baking magic involved.

Breakfast doesn’t last long; it never does, on cinnamon bun days, all efforts at slowly savouring abandoned in favour of stuffing faces. All too soon all the buns have been eaten, all the bacon devoured - most of it by Honeydew - all the tea and coffee drunk, and under Xephos’s watchful eye even the dishes are swiftly dealt with. Food and chores done, everyone wanders off to do their own thing, and Will returns upstairs to dress and generally get ready for the day, mentally planning out his schedule as he absentmindedly hunts for his favourite sweater in his closet. He needs to go see Kirin, find out what he wants, and figure out what he’d meant when he said he wanted to teach him how to use his magic. He does seem to have an uncanny understanding of Will’s power, he’d demonstrated as much back at his shop, but does he know enough to actually _teach_ him? And what about Kirin’s own magic? It’s unlike any Will has ever seen, wild and green but subtle, and as powerful and deep as an undertow on a seemingly placid lake; even when he’d lived in the country, where all magic by necessity drew from the earth much more than city magics did, he’d never encountered anyone so in tune with the natural world. He’ll definitely have to ask him about that.

He finishes getting ready on autopilot, mentally listing and then discarding possible reasons for Kirin’s odd magical register. He’s putting on his coat, carefully tucking in his scarf and making sure his phone and sunglasses are in their proper pockets, when Lalna suddenly comes barreling up from the basement at full speed, grabbing his coat and not so much pulling on his shoes as tripping into them in his haste to get out of the door. Will stands still for a moment in bemused silence, staring out after him, but everything becomes clear a second later, when a furious shout echoes down from upstairs.

“Why- Why is there raspberry _all_ over my jumper? My _favourite_ jumper? Boys!”

Lalna’s rapid exit is suddenly looking like a brilliant idea, and Will almost catches his sleeve in the door in his haste to close it and be on his way. Walking away from the house as quickly as he can without flat out running, he feels the city sinking claws back into his soul and mind, tangling him in its endless rhythms.

He’s timed his outing reasonably well today, so that he doesn't need to deal with morning traffic, but by virtue of it being the weekend there’s still more cars on the road than he’d anticipated, the drag of their routes crossing through the city reminding him of all the worst parts of the day before, and by the time he makes it to Kirin’s shop he’s shaking with more than just the cold. The silvery sound of the bell as he pulls open the door is possibly the most welcome sound he’s ever heard, finally blotting out the truck horns and car radios and trundling busses that have been swirling endlessly in his ears the entire way there. The door slams shut behind him with a muffled _whump_ of displaced air as the cold harsh city falls away, and Will is enveloped in the sweet warmth of Kirin’s shop. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, once, twice, feeling the tension sliding out of his body and being replaced with a calm tranquility. It’s a beautiful feeling. Composed once more, he reopens his eyes and looks around the shop, peeling off his outdoor gear and stuffing scarf into hat into coat sleeve.

Not much has changed since he’s been here last; a small chalkboard on the far wall advertises a new tea of the week, certain shelves look better stocked while others look more picked through, and the cash register now sports a vibrant miniature wreath, dark glossy green of the holly leaves contrasting starkly against the weathered bronze of the antique machine, but otherwise it looks unchanged. The same worn wooden floors, the same honey-coloured wood panelling on the walls, the same brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling and brightening the interior with their cheerful light, the same round-the-room shelves on which plants both living and dried battle endlessly for space, and the same polished counter with its hulking ancient cash register. Everything is where he remembers it being, except for the owner himself. As Will edges slowly deeper into the room, Kirin’s absence from his customary perch behind the counter is impossible to miss.

Further inside, he can tell that something else has changed as well. He can hear a faint music trailing through the air, otherworldly and beautiful and just on the edge of hearing. He reaches out with his power, trying to figure out where it’s coming from, but can find no source; there's no speakers, no device, nothing that could be producing the sound. It leaves him utterly perplexed, which is not a state of being he enjoys. Taking a final look around, on the off chance that Kirin might be hiding behind one of the displays, Will makes his way tentatively to the back of the room, heading for the door that presumably leads further into the shop.

“Kirin?” His voice sounds pathetically small in the empty hallway, echoing hollowly off the cool grey flagstones paving the floor. It doesn't look at all familiar from his time visiting the greenhouse, although he could have sworn this was the way they'd gone. It’s much cooler than the front room as well - almost uncomfortably so - and positively gloomy, the only light coming from whatever can make it out of the main room. He has to suppress a shiver as he stands there, ears straining for any sign of a reply.

“William?” Will whirls around so fast he almost falls over, just barely restraining himself from swearing loudly in shock. _How_ had Kirin gotten behind him? Where had he come from? Hurrying back into the warmth and light of the front room, Will sees him sitting on the counter as casually as if he’s been there there the whole time, idly toying with a tea tin and grinning at the indignation on Will’s face. He’s left his apron off today, and Will thinks he looks odd without it; he’s gotten so used to associating Kirin with teal that seeing him in now in a red cable knit sweater is really messing with his head. That said, he can’t help but be just a little bit jealous of how good he looks right now, looking down at him from on high. Especially when Will himself probably looks awful in comparison, with his ancient sweater and his tiny five feet three inches of height and his dumb hair. He just _knows_ his roots are showing. When did he last dye them? It’s definitely been too long, but he just hasn't had _time_.

Kirin is still just watching him, grin spreading slowly wider and wider, and it dawns on Will that’s he’s been standing staring at him for a solid minute without saying a word. He should really say something.

“Um. Hi.” Something other than that. “You, uh, said to come by, so. Here I am.” He winces at how dumb that sounds; his face feels like it’s on fire, and he suspects he’s probably the same colour as Kirin's sweater.

“Here you are indeed. How are you feeling? Did you enjoy my gift?”

“I’m fine, thanks for- Wait a minute, your gift? I don’t remember any gift.” The sudden shift in topic at least distracts him from his humiliation, for which he’s eternally grateful. “Unless- Hold up, the blanket? That was from you?”

“You looked so cold, I thought you might appreciate it.”

“I did. It was lovely. Very warm. And stuff. I suppose you’ll be wanting it back?” He doesn't want to give it back. It’s beautiful, and comfortable, and looks great on his bed. He wants to keep it.

“I said it was a gift, didn’t I? It’s yours to keep. Unless you don’t want it?”

 **"** No!” It bursts out before he can stop it, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from growling in frustration. “I _mean_ , uh. Thank you. It’s a gorgeous gift. I’d be delighted to keep it.” He wants to bang his head against the wall. It shouldn’t be this hard to carry on a simple conversation; this is ridiculous.

“So. I’m here, as promised. Do you actually need me for something?” If he can just stop the conversation from getting away from him again, maybe he’ll be able to make it throughout two whole minutes without making an idiot of himself. Maybe. He can hope.

“Straight to the point, I see. Very well. Follow me, and we can sit down and talk.” Pushing off the counter, Kirin strolls past Will and disappears through the door he’d gone through before, that led to the dark corridor. Will is quick to follow him, eager not to get left behind, but once through the door he has to pause. _Had_ they gone through the same door? He could have sworn there weren't any others, but the hallway he’s in now bears no more than a passing resemblance to the one he’d been in just minutes prior. This space is warm and well-lit, and at the far end of it, curving away to some higher floor, there is now an intricate spiral staircase.

“Will?” Kirin pops his head through a side door, looking at him curiously. Will notes that that door hadn’t been there either. “Are you coming? Is something wrong?”

“It’s different,” blurts Will. “From before. It was all cold, and now it’s warm, and nice.” He reaches out with the hand that isn’t holding his coat and runs it along one of the walls, not sure what he’s checking for, exactly, except maybe that his eyes aren’t lying to him. His fingers trail along the wood, solid and warm, and somewhat more reassured of the reality of his surroundings, he follows Kirin through the door, which turns out to lead to a spacious kitchen. Kirin’s back is to him, and he’s busying himself with mugs and cupboards and hot water at the counter on the opposite side of the room, which leaves Will standing uncertainly by the door. Looking around, he’s impressed at the size of the it; Kirin’s shop definitely hadn’t looked this big from the outside. It’s a nice space, with high ceilings supported by rafters hung with little bunches of dried plants, sleek appliances melding seamlessly with the counter, and a floor paved with an intricate pattern of large paving stones in various shades of terracotta, burnt umber, and charcoal gray. Unsure of what to do, he wanders over to Kirin.

“Of course it’s different. I’ve asked you in; you’re here on my invitation now.” Kirin tosses that out as casually as if he hasn't just admitted that he lives in some kind of bizarre spatially-ambiguous house. It actually takes Will a moment to fully comprehend exactly what he’s said, but of course by that point Kirin’s already moved onto something else. “Tea? I have a pot of chai here, I think you’ll like it.”

“Sure, yeah, tea would be great.” Will’s still trying to wrap his head around the immensity of the magic that would be required to seal parts of a building away in what has to be another realm. He’s heard of extremely powerful witches who were able to create pocket dimensions, but those were typically about the size of a middling handbag, and required extensive preparations before each use. To do it on such a scale, and so casually, was unheard of. Will’s respect for Kirin ticks up a couple of notches.

A mug of tea being thrust into his hands breaks him out of his reverie, curls of steam wafting fragrant warmth in his face, smelling of of cloves, and nutmeg, and cinnamon. Following Kirin’s lead, he takes a seat at the large wooden table standing by the window, gratefully depositing his coat on the chair next to him. Unsure of what else to do, he brings his mug to his mouth and takes a sip. To his surprise, it’s actually quite pleasant, peppery and tingly on his tongue, and warming him through to the core. He might actually consider drinking tea more often if all of it was like this; the spices add a nice kick, and the subtle notes of honey keep the taste smooth, and provide the bit of sweetness it needs, without drowning out all the other flavours the way that sugar so often tends to do. All in all, he barely minds the burnt tongue he gets; the prickling bite of the spices numbs the pain, and the honey soothes over it like a balm.

“This is really good!”

Kirin nods his head in acknowledgement and smiles from behind the rim of his own cup.

“Thank you. That’s the Chilli Chai, it’s quite popular in the shop. Great de-stresser, boosts your metabolism like nobody’s business, and does _wonders_ for your alertness; really it’s just an all-around great tea. I could give you a tin before you go, if you’re interested. On the house. Personal favour.” He smiles beguilingly and Will finds himself nodding along before he’s quite sure what he’s nodding about.

“Wow, really? Thank you.” Something about the word ‘favour’ is setting off alarm bells in Will’s head, but he squashes them down. Kirin’s being so nice, and it would probably be rude to refuse. Probably. He’s feeling so out of his depth right now, he isn’t actually certain, but it’s probably better to err on the side of caution.

“You’re very welcome. Now. On to business.” Kirin sets down his tea, and his expression sobers slightly, although there’s still the hint of a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.

“You need teaching. Badly. You have a veritable wellspring of power, and nigh-unlimited potential, but no training, which is a very dangerous combination both for you and for those around you. The way things stand now, it’s only a matter of time until you lose control, which a danger for any untrained magician; but because it’s you, the results would be catastrophic.”

Will tries to argue, but Kirin silences him with a gesture. “Don’t interrupt. This isn’t negotiable, this is fact. As long as you remain untrained, you are a liability, and a threat. This isn't a judgement on your character, it’s simply the unfortunate byproduct of your power. Now, if someone were to train you, you could achieve amazing things. Unbelievable things. Things you can’t even imagine. I can provide you with that training. With a good teacher, you could be extraordinary; with me, you could eclipse the stars themselves. If you let me train you, you would be unstoppable.” Throughout his pitch, Kirin’s face has been friendly and open, the picture of concerned selflessness, but something in his eyes makes Will trepidant to take him up on his offer.

“What’s the catch? Don’t give me that look, there’s got to be one. What’s in this for you.”

“So cynical!” The mock chagrin in Kirin's voice, accompanied by the trembling hand pressed to his heart, could probably win an Oscar, although the effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that Kirin’s still smiling so dazzlingly that Will almost chokes on his tea.

“Maybe I’m just in it for the glory. Whoever takes you on as an apprentice will forever be known as the one who taught William Strife, and I can promise you that that’ll mean quite a lot down the line. Maybe I’m just in it for the ride. Working with you in any capacity is sure to prove a lively experience. Or _maybe_ , I plan to claim your soul for payment and keep you as my eternal slave. Really, it’s very silly to ask those kinds of questions, Will. What I _expect_ to receive - if indeed there is anything - and what I _shall_ receive really are two entirely different things. Rest assured that I would never ask anything of you that you wouldn't be capable of providing, and the events that might prompt me to do so would be very specific indeed.” He takes a long drink of tea, leaving Will trying to puzzle through what he’s just said.

“So. What’ll it be? Yes, or no?”

“I…” Will doesn't know what to say. On the one hand, Kirin’s probably the one person in the whole city who has any idea of what he’s going through, and he’s also extremely talented at what he does; exactly what this is, Will still has no idea, but it's probably complicated and awesome. All said, he’s probably the best person to be teaching him; much as it fills his heart with guilt to admit, Xephos has been very little help so far, and so busy that he’s barely had any time for even the most preliminary lessons. On the other hand, something about Kirin’s answer - specifically, the lack _of_ a proper answer - leaves Will leery of putting himself so wholly into his hands. The one thing that Xephos has found plenty of opportunities to drill into Will is the concept of Debt, and everything about Kirin’s deal, from the immensity of what Will would gain to the ambiguity of Kirin’s own benefit, sounds like a classic damning deal. He’s pretty sure Kirin wouldn’t do that to him though. He _hopes_ Kirin wouldn't do that to him, because realistically, he’s probably going to accept his offer.

“I don’t know. What if I change my mind? What happens then?”

“Nothing happens. It’s up to you whether you want to be trained. If you feel that your time would be better spent elsewhere, you are under no obligation to show up. At any time you would be free to leave, and not come back, if you so choose. I would never _dream_ of trapping you in anything you didn’t want.” Kirin’s eyes are on Will’s, measuring and steady, and he feels like they're piercing straight into his soul.

“Well… I guess, if you promise that I can leave at anytime?” He waits for Kirin to nod before continuing. “Then yes. I’ll study with you.”

As if on cue there’s a thunderous crash from somewhere nearby, and Will jumps so badly he spills tea all over his hand. For a second he thinks it’s actual thunder, but the look on Kirin’s face says otherwise, and after a moment of thought Will remembers that it’s the middle of December and of _course_ it isn’t thunder, that would be ridiculous.

“There’s someone in the shop.” Will looks up from hastily drying his hand on his sweater at the angry tone of Kirin’s voice, and finds that his eyes have gone flinty, and the expression on his face is, if not actually murderous, then perilously close to it.

“That was a customer?” Will asks in shock, and flinches as Kirin turns his gaze back to him, but Kirin’s expression softens when he looks at him, and he shakes his head.

“No. It isn’t a customer. Please excuse me, I have to go deal with this.” Kirin’s up and out the door before Will can blink, leaving his alone at the table with only two nearly empty mugs, and a growing apprehension. What had Kirin meant by ‘not a customer’? Who else would it be? Not particularly eager to sit alone in the kitchen, he scoops up his mug and goes to investigate.

He isn’t sure what he expects to find when he gets back to the front, but it isn’t a furious Kirin looming menacingly over a tiny blonde individual amid a heap of knocked-over merchandise. He tries to edge nearer, but they spot him, and break into a charming smile that seems so at odds with their hungry, aggressive stance.

"So here he is at last, the sorcerer who's caused such a stir in our little city. William Strife. Let's have a look at you then." Their voice is smooth and easy, all honey and molasses, and the sound of his name in their mouth makes his skin crawl. Their eyes sweep him lazily up and down with such casual contempt that he has to resist the urge to take a step back or hide behind something; instead he lifts his head higher and meets their eyes, challenging, though it leaves him shaking inside. His hands are trembling around his mug, threatening to spill more tea, and he squeezes them tighter, taking comfort in the residual amounts of heat it provides. He doesn’t know who this person is, but Kirin doesn’t like them, and that’s enough for him.

“Oh, he’s _spirited_! Little lamb think’s he’s a lion. Tell me, little lamb,” They’re suddenly right in front of Will, ducking effortlessly under Kirin and crowding into his personal space, moving so fast that they seem not to have occupied the intervening space at all. Will notes with annoyance that despite appearing so tiny from far away they're still taller than him, but his annoyance is quickly replaced with alarm when they reach up lightning fast and clasp a hand around his throat. “Do you know who I am? What I can do? I am fear, and death, and pain, and darkness deeper than your frail mortal mind could possibly imagine. Only fools and dead men stand so tall before me. Do you wish to join their ranks?”

Their nails are gouging into his skin, needle-sharp and surprisingly painful, and Will wants to pull away, but he’s backed against the wall and the eyes staring into his own make moving impossible, pulling him forward into a mismatched abyss of clear, empty crystalline blue. He feels like his very thoughts are being drawn out of him, and when the face in front him grins a grin full of neat, tiny teeth, he _knows_ it’s no illusion. His breath is coming in short bursts but it feels hollow in his chest, oxygen suddenly in short supply, and his head is spinning faster and faster but he still can’t look away. Now the face in front of him is changing, growing gaunter, hungrier, teeth elongating and sharpening and there suddenly seems to be a lot _more_ of them than there were before. Blood is pouring down their face, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, pooling up from around their eyes and making its steady progress downwards until he can feel it spatter on his sweater.

The shatter of his mug hitting the ground jolts through him like a lightning bolt as it drops from numbed fingers onto the unforgiving wooden floor at his feet. It hits in a wave of porcelain shards and hot tea, finally breaking him out of his paralysis and he reacts instantly, without thinking, pushing with both hands against the body in front of him with all the strength he can muster. He curls in on himself in relief as he feels the presence in front of him disappear. The space is filled again almost instantly but that’s fine, because its Kirin, and Kirin is safe.

“William! Are you alright? It’s okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” Kirin’s got Will’s face in his hands, fingers bracketing his temples and cupping his jaw, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones, but Will can’t say anything, can only stand and breathe and shake, hand to his throat and eyes shut tight, still feeling the intruder’s phantom grip, and the much more immediate pain from the bloody trails their nails have left behind as their hand was ripped away. The trails burn hot, and tingly, and slightly numb.

“Who- Who _is_ that?” His breathing is almost under control, and he doesn't feel like he’s about to shake apart, so he cautiously opens his eyes. He’d meant the question for Kirin, but the reply doesn't come from him.

“Oh dear, how _terribly_ rude of me, not to introduce myself. I am Lyinginbedmon, little lamb. You might know me as the Well-Witch, but I give you permission to call me Lying.” Their face seems to have reverted back to its original appearance, but that’s little comfort to Will right now; the image of their bleeding eyes feels seared into his mind.

“I think myself a forgiving man, Lying, but you try even my patience.” Kirin turns back around, facing Lying once more, though he keeps an arm around Will as well, holding him close to his side. Pressed tight against him, Will can feel how rigid he is, how tense and coiled, and it scares him to see him this way. For the first time he seems properly dangerous, and Will does not understand how this... _Lying_ can stand before him so unconcerned. Don’t they see how much danger they’re in?

Apparently not, because instead of backing down they simply stand up taller and bare their teeth in a savage approximation of a smile. Will marvels at their irreverence.

“Man? You haven’t been a man since before the stars had names, and even when you were, you weren't. I remember where you started, Kirin Dave, and you were not a man, even then.” They weave slowly closer and Will wants to shrink away, but Kirin’s arm is like a steel band around his waist, holding him in place. When he speaks, it’s as if Lying had never spoken.

“You have entered my realm without leave, walked my streets without invitation, defiled my store with your words and your actions, and now you have threatened my apprentice. I have every right to punish you for your transgressions, so please, give me so much as a single reason why I should not.”

“Apprentice? Already? My my, but we’re in deep. I should have known. Just look at him; already so beholden, but you _still_ want more. Poor little lamb. So young, so naive. So stupid. You should have run, stupid lamb. Run, and let the honest beasts chase you. You might have stood a chance, then. But no, you’d much rather have the King Beast himself, delivering yourself to him with a bow around your pretty little neck, though he be by far the least honest. Pity. Your blood would have tasted so sweet.” Will’s hand flies back to his throat, and he knows they know exactly how much blood they’ve drawn there. It’s only the strength of Kirin’s grip that keeps him from dropping to his knees in relief when they turn their gaze away from him.

“And as for you. I do not need your leave to do anything, not now and not ever. You might labour under the illusion that this city belongs to you, but let me remind you once more that _I_ do _not_ , and I need your “leave” about as much as you need the leave of the rubbish brigade to walk your own lands. I do as I please, I take what I please, and I walk where I please, and you would do well to remember that.” With a taunting, over-exaggerated bow to Kirin, they brush past Will, unnecessarily close, and stalk out of the shop with their head held high. The door slamming viciously shut behind them serves only to emphasize the silence that they leave in their wake.

Kirin finally lets go of Will, marching over to the door, savagely wrenching the lock closed and flipping the sign in the window from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. Will wobbles a bit at the sudden lack of support and casts a worried look at Kirin, but he’s still standing by the door, head bowed and shoulders tense, breathing deeply. Deciding it best not to disturb him until he’s calmed down, Will walks over to the toppled display and starts quietly putting it back together as best he can from memory, confused and troubled by everything that’s just happened. He’s nearly done when he hears Kirin walk up behind him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. Lying can be… difficult, sometimes. They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He turns Will around carefully, laying a gentle hand hand on his jaw as he tilts his head back to study his throat, and Will’s breath stutters to a halt somewhere in his chest. He can tell when Kirin sees the scratches by the way his expression shifts, turning stormy and concerned.

“They _did_. Oh Will, why didn’t you say something? This must hurt. You stay right there, I’ll get you something to put on that.” Being left alone is the last thing Will wants right now, but Kirin disappears before he can say anything.

The newly empty shop doesn't feel nearly as welcoming now as it did when he’d first walked in, and it’s all too easy to imagine that he can still hear Lying’s taunts hanging heavy in the air. They make about as much sense now as they had earlier, and he can’t even remember most of what they’d said, but the sense of disquiet their words have instilled in him won't dissipate. He badly wants to ask Kirin about what they’d meant; he hadn't liked the sound of his being “beholden”, and the bits about a beast had sounded pretty ominous as well. Maybe he’ll do it some other time though, let Kirin cool off before he brings it up again.

The display has been fully repaired, to the best of Will’s abilities, and he’s hunting for a broom to sweep up the mess his mug has left on the floor when Kirin finally returns, carrying a small glass jar full of some kind of pale green paste, and a cloth.

“Healing salve!” he says with a grin, shaking the little jar and beckoning Will to join him by the window. “Knew I had some in the back. Now come over here into the light, and let’s take a proper look at you.”

The neat clicks of Will’s shoes on the hardwood floor beat a faltering rhythm as he slowly approaches the window. He’s relieved to see the return of smiling, jovial Kirin - of course he is, he can feel the tight knot of pressure unwinding around his lungs just from being near him - but he’s still on edge from the encounter with Lying, and the heel face turn that is Kirin’s mood only adds to his unease. There's a feeling like something’s coiling around his throat, tighter and tighter, choking him slowly, and he hates it, but being away from Kirin somehow just makes it worse, so he swallows his misgivings and does as he’s told.

If Kirin notices, he doesn't comment, simply throwing Will a distracted smile as he continues fighting the cork out of the jar. After another few seconds of wrestling, it comes free with a loud _pop_ , filling the air with the smell of spring and fresh air, and Kirin sets it down on the windowsill, gesturing for Will to come closer.

“Head up. Let me see.”

Will obligingly tilts his head back, catching his reflection in the window as he does so. For the first time, he can see what Kirin’s so concerned about, and it takes him by surprise. It barely hurts anymore - in fact, he can hardly feel at all - so the ugliness of it shocks him. The bleeding has mostly finished, at least, but it’s left scabbed-over trails of dark rust across his neck, beginning just under his jaw and meandering erratically downwards, smeared in places where his fingers had smudged through it; one claw mark is still bleeding, sluggishly seeping red, and he gasps as it flares in pain when he looks at it, as if seeing it had reminded the surrounding nerve ending that there was, in fact, pain to be felt. Picked out in blue and mauve beneath the blood, he can also make out the beginnings of bruises, forming where Lying had first gripped him so tightly, though they don’t hurt quite yet. Even now, he can still feel the phantom press of the fingers that caused them, glacial and clammy and vise-tight.

The cold brush of a washcloth startles Will so badly he he almost falls over, legs telling him to jump away while his brain says to stay still, and it’s only Kirin’s steadying hand on his shoulder that keeps him upright.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Just don’t move.” Will relaxes at the warm rumble of Kirin’s voice, and does his best to keep steady for him, but Kirin still ends up having to wrap a hand around the back of his neck to keep him from swaying under his hand. His grip is warm and solid and surprisingly comforting, and Will’s eyes fall shut almost of their own accord as he struggle not to lean too far into the hold.

Kirin works quickly, and soon the cloth is set down once more, now significantly filthier than it had started out. The hand holding Will in place doesn't move as Kirin reaches for the little pot of salve, and Will shifts, a little uncertainly, on the spot, trying half-heartedly to pull away. Kirin’s hand doesn't budge, though, so he stays where he is.

“I’m almost done, Will, just hold tight. Once I’ve put the salve on you’ll be good to go.”

It stings, a bit, as Kirin coats it over the cuts, but the feeling is gone almost as soon as Will can notice it. The smooth glide of Kirin’s fingers over Will’s neck is mesmerizing, and his breath catches in his throat as his thumb presses down over his pulse. He leans into it without thinking, but Kirin’s already drawing away, wiping his hands clean and re-sealing the jar.

“There, all done. That should clear everything up by tonight, but in case it doesn't... Tell you what, I’ll give you the rest of the salve. It’s best to reapply it at least once anyways. How does that sound?”

Will is still caught up in the feel of Kirin’s skin on his own, and it’s with a conscious effort that he brings his mind back to the present moment.

“I- What? Yeah, uh, sure, that would be great. Thank you.” He has no idea what the question was, but Kirin is nodding, so he’s probably said the right thing. When he presses the pot of salve into his hands, Will nearly drops it, and Kirin has to fold his unresisting fingers around it himself to ensure it doesn't fall.

“Will? Are you sure you’re alright?” Kirin looks like he’s about to check Will’s forehead for a fever, and as nice as that would be, it probably wouldn't help the situation, and it _definitely_ wouldn't help his pride, so he takes a deep breath and focuses back in on his surroundings, blinks his way out of the fog he feels crowding his head, and smiles at Kirin.

“I’m sorry. I’m fine. I was just- I’m fine.” He scrubs a hand down his face and that helps, clearing his head a bit more until he feels like maybe he can actually think again.

“Thanks for the, ah.” He gestures vaguely to his throat. “Stuff. It really helps.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m just sorry you got hurt.”

Will goes to wave off his concern, and ends up doing a double take as he properly looks at Kirin and sees the depth of emotion in his face. He hadn't really thought it to be that big of a deal, but it clearly was to Kirin, and Will hurries to reassure him.

“It’s fine! Honestly, it hardly even hurt; it was more startling than anything else.”

“No, it _isn't_ fine. It was careless on my part to have put you in danger in the first place. You should not have gotten hurt at all. You are my guest, and I’m afraid I’ve done a terrible job as host. Please, forgive me." Will is seriously confused now, but Kirin doesn't appear to be joking, even if he does sound like he's quoting some lesser known Shakespeare play. The apology, at least, seems genuine, so he focuses on that.

"Kirin, look, honestly, I'm fine. I promise. I forgive you, if you want, but it wasn't your fault. There isn't anything to forgive."

 He doesn't understand why Kirin’s making this into such a big thing; it was unpleasant, sure, and Will would be lying if he said he isn't seriously shaken from the encounter, but Kirin’s reaction seems a little over the top.

 ****“There is much to forgive, and I thank you for absolving me of it so freely. I will do everything in my power to ensure that this is the last time you are hurt under my care. Aside from being my guest, you are also my apprentice, and therefore your wellbeing is my responsibility.” Some of the manic fire in Kirin’s eyes seems to be dissipating, much to Will’s relief, so he feels safe to return to his side where he’s currently staring out the window.

Will isn't sure what he's looking at that’s so interesting, but he looks too, scanning the people flowing by past them without a single one of them returning his gaze, and watching the the afternoon sunlight sparkle brightly on the windows across the street, and thinking. Maybe that was all this is, simply Kirin taking his new role as a mentor a little too seriously; if it is, he can only hope that he mellows out soon. He gets enough fussing from his uncle.

In the wake of everything that’s happened he’d already sort of forgotten that he’d agreed to study with Kirin, but now that he’s been reminded, he recalls that he’d meant to ask Kirin some more questions about it. He turns, mouth already forming the words, but the space next to him is empty once more; Kirin is gone, and a quick look around reveals that he’s no longer even in the room. Will huffs out an annoyed breath - he’s quickly getting tired of being left alone in here - and goes out to search for him.

He only makes it about halfway to the door when he’s distracted by the crunch of china fragments beneath his feet, reminding him that he’d meant to clean up the mess he’d left. A quick circuit of the room quickly unearths a small brush and dustpan on a low shelf behind the counter, and properly equipped, Will makes short work of the broken mug. He feels a little bad for dumping the pieces so unceremoniously in the trash, but it isn’t like there's much else to be done with them. It had been a pretty mug though. He’ll just have to get Kirin another one, a prettier one, to replace it.

As he’s returning the brush and pan to their proper places, something on on a different shelf catches his eye, and he leans over to get a better look. He’s not quite sure what it is that first attracts him to it. Perhaps it’s the odd shape, reaching off the shelf towards him, lumpy and irregular and just barely covered by the dusty white sheet stretched over it, printed with fading bunches of red grapes. Perhaps it’s the barest echo of magic trapped somewhere inside it, crying for release. Perhaps it’s just simple curiosity to investigate the thing that he almost took out his eye on. Either way, his interest is piqued. He’d been meaning to look for Kirin, but that could wait; it would serve him right for leaving Will alone again. With a careful hand, he grabs the sheet and begins to pull.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The sheet comes off slowly, snagging a couple of times on whatever’s beneath it, and Will is wary of pulling too hard lest he knock the thing over. It seems sturdy enough though, bottom-heavy and solid in its place on the shelf, and once the sheet’s fully off, Will can see why. On the shelf in front of him is a gramophone, so old it has to be some kind of antique, and so beautiful it takes his breath away. The delicate golden horn rises gracefully above the heavy wooden platform below, gleaming dully in the warm light of the lanterns overhead. It’s adorned with stamped designs of leafy vines and wide-petaled flowers unfurling and reaching out towards the rim, and Will can’t resist reaching out to trace one with a shy fingertip.

 The metal is cool to the touch, but warms almost instantly under his hand as he follows a vine down the neck of the horn to where it meets with the base, which is octagonal and glows with the same shade of rich, deep brown as the ninety-percent cacao chocolate that his uncle loves so much, and that Will finds so unbearably bitter. Set into the wood are decorative panels of lighter, caramel-coloured wood, edged in more gold and with beautifully-shaped golden roses rising out of their centres, and Will runs a finger along one of those as well, trailing across the the petals with the gentlest touch he can manage.

 It is without a doubt the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he aches to know what it’s like on the inside. The inner mechanism must be remarkable, and he eagerly sinks his mind into it, head already swimming with the feel of intricate, carefully fitted parts interlocking and- Oh. He flinches back as his mental exploration encounters something jagged and sharp buried deep inside the mechanism. Apparently the pieces aren't so carefully fitted after all; not anymore, at any rate. For all its beauty, the gramophone is essentially useless; completely broken inside, cogs jammed and twisted out of place, the entire thing is unusable for anything but decoration.

 The extent of the damage inside breaks Will’s heart. The gramophone had been created to make music, to fill rooms with life and sound, not to sit lonely and abandoned on a forgotten shelf like a relic of a past age, gathering dust. He can feel its longing to play again, hear its lament at its inability to perform its function, and his heart goes out to it. He’s never worked with anything like it before, probably never repaired anything over 5 years of age, but for this gramophone, he’s willing to try. He’s used to working with cutting-edge tech, but this had been cutting edge itself, once upon a time, and maybe that’s enough. He’ll make sure it’s enough.

 He comes back to himself long enough to reposition his hands more firmly on either side of the casing, then lets his mind fall back inside it once more, searching for the rough edges on his mental map that mark the many places where it’s broken. He finds one almost immediately, where a cog has come out of alignment and pushed all the surrounding ones out of place as well. Feeling around in search for a cause, he sees that the offending part is coated in a thick layer of grime, to such an extent that the teeth have become blocked up, no longer allowing it to link up with its neighbours the way it should. Thinking for a moment, Will reaches out to the humming electrical wires that run through the walls of the shop and pinches away a little sliver of electricity. He compacts it until he has a ball of pure heat roughly the size of a pea, then sets to work cleaning the gear. Once the dirt has been burned off, it’s easy work to coax it back into position and readjust its neighbours until they all mesh soundly together once more.

 First problem dealt with, he moves on to find the next. It, like its predecessor, is also clogged and dirty, but this one is also bent nearly in half for no reason that Will is able to discern. A bit of electricity quickly deals with the filth, and a bit more softens the metal enough that he can bend it back into its original shape; easy enough to do, since it still remember the shape it had held before it was damaged, and all he has to do is ask it to go back to that.

 The third broken part is also clogged, so he takes a moment to run a check of the entire interior. Sure enough, even the functional sections are desperately filthy, and he can practically hear the entire thing sigh in relief as carefully cleans it all away.

 From there the work is just more of the same; not especially difficult, but slow and fiddly. He realigns the parts that have separated or jammed, reshapes the ones that have been bent out of shape, recoils springs that have lost their bounce over years of neglect, and tightens loose screws. He can feel the effects of each small repair on the machine as a whole, feel the way it brings it closer and closer to being one once more, and he can feel a smile slowly blooming on his face. This, this is what he loves, the part of his magic that he actually enjoys, where he can leave the confusion and the overwhelming tides of power, and just lose himself in the one on one of holding a thing in his hands and healing it until it's better than new.

 When, at last, the final gear has been repositioned, the last screw tightened, the last trace of dirt removed, Will is utterly spent. Sweat is trickling tiny streams down his face, and his breathing more closely resembles panting. He takes a step back to admire his work and nearly collapses; if a pair of strong arms hadn't appeared to grab him, he would have ended up on the ground.

 "Congratulations, William. That was masterfully done. For the first lesson, I’d say that was quite a success." Kirin gently props him back upright and takes a step back, watching.

 "The first- You planned this?" Will is leaning awkwardly on the counter, trying to catch his breath, but he straightens up at Kirin's words. "You weren't even here!"

 He tries to stand taller, to look Kirin in the eyes, but he’s still catching his breath. The repair took much more out of him than he’d anticipated, and that worries him; it’s been years since a simple mending job has left him this worn out. He hopes this isn't some leftover from his last night’s misadventures, but he also doesn't want it to be anything else, something new, on top of everything else.

 “Let’s just say I had an idea that something like this might occur. I really can’t thank you enough for fixing it; it’s been very dear to me for quite a long time, so it’s wonderful to see it restored to its former glory.”

 “It was nothing. I couldn't very well leave it sad and broken. Consider- Consider it payment. For the mug. Also… If you don’t mind my asking, how did the gramophone break? I’ve never seen anything like- It was all coated in some kind of dried _slime_ , and a whole bunch of the parts were bent in very odd ways?”

 Kirin is silent for a long moment, gazing into the middle distance, and Will’s about to apologize - obviously that was a personal question, what was he thinking, it’s none of his business - but Kirin doesn't give him the chance.

 “I imagine it was the week spent on the bottom of the river that did most of that. There was an… accident. It wasn’t accidental, you understand, but it was an accident nonetheless. A certain trio of… hooligans decided that the best place for it was under fifty feet of water. I did what I could for it after that, but my skills lie in botany, not technology, not even stuff as old as this. I could repair the outside, make it look look like new, but I couldn't make it play.”

 “Someone- Someone _threw it in the river_?” asks Will, aghast. “How could they- Who could do something like that? To something so beautiful? It’s probably one of a kind!” He can't believe that anyone could bring themselves to harm the beautiful gramophone, and so upset by the thought that he’s almost speechless.

 “Oh, it’s undoubtedly one of a kind. If not when it was made, then now, definitely. Any kin it might have had would be long gone, now. As for the who… You’ve met them, I believe. They call themselves the Garbage Court, though the title is a stolen, artificial one, to which they have no claim.”

 Will almost laughs out loud when at the extent of Kirin’s understatement. He’s met the Garbage Court, alright. Loud, obnoxious and unbearable, smiles like switchblades and a lone wolf’s hunger in each one’s eyes, their hands quicker even than their sharpened tongues. They had worked together like a well-oiled machine, that he'd had to admire even as they'd bound his hands and layered duct tape over his mouth, and carted him around the city like a trussed turkey. And then stolen his sunglasses, just to top it off. If there's anyone who would toss a priceless antique gramophone into the river like a dead body, it would be them.

 "We've met." Just thinking about them starts a slow burn of anger in his core; he's done his best to pay them back in kind, but he's far from finished, and he plans to make sure that they never bother him again. “Never again.”

 “Don’t worry about that; if you’re smart you’ll never have to see them again. But enough about them. How do you feel? Still going to fall over on me?"

 "I'm fine, I just didn't expect that... It shouldn't have been so hard. I don't understand. I've rebuilt much more complicated tech with a fraction of the effort."

 "Perhaps, but I doubt you were battling fae-cast decay magic while you did it. There's a reason I couldn't get anyone to fix it; it isn't easy to clear off that kind of charm. Even with the best preparation, the number of people who even _might_ be capable of breaking it is exceedingly small, and any kind of mistake would have just made the problem worse."

 "You're telling me that there was fairy magic in this thing? And I somehow breezed right through it without even noticing it?" Will doesn't mean to sound skeptical, but it sounds a little farfetched to him. The idea that he’s succeeded where professionals would have failed is ridiculous. He’s not _that_ good at what he does.

 "No. I'm saying there was _fae_ magic, and you _did_ notice it. That so called "slime" you cleared away was more than just silt and river water, Will. Alright. Time for a proper first lesson, I guess. Lesson one is as follows: learn to see what you're looking at. Not just look at it, but see it. If you let your expectations do your seeing for you, you’ll never get anywhere.”

 “I still don't understand... How did I break that charm then? Breaking fairy magic is… That’s sorcery stuff. Or fairy stuff. I guess my uncle could probably do it, with enough time to set up a ritual, but me? I mean, I’m not- What? What is it?” Kirin’s giving him a Look that Will has no idea how to interpret. It’s partially expectant -except of what? - and partially disbelieving.

 “You really don’t know? Has your uncle not told you?” Kirin sounds genuinely perplexed, and Will feels a little vindictive satisfaction at that. If he’s confused, then Kirin can be too.

 “Told me what? Am I missing something here? Why are you looking at me like that.”

 “Will. You _are_ a sorcerer. I thought you knew.”

 "Not funny Kirin.” Will doesn’t know why Kirin’s chosen now to play a joke, but he’s not laughing.

 “I’m serious Will. You’re a sorcerer, perhaps the strongest I’ve ever seen. I wouldn't lie to you.” Kirin’s face is completely honest, not a hint of humour, and Will feels the beginnings of panic rising in his throat.

 “But I’m not! I’m _not_! I’m a technomancer, Kirin, I can’t be a sorcerer!” He feels hands tangled in his hair, pulling at it from the roots, and to his shock he finds that they're his own; he doesn't remember telling them to move, but there they are, grasping desperately at any parts of his hair long enough to hold. He’s aware, distantly, that he’s not being very rational, that his behaviour is shameful and childish, but he can’t help it; the part of him that deals with rational responses has been barricaded somewhere far away by this other, panicking part that is currently in control, and it isn't having much luck getting out.

 “You’re both. Or rather, you’re an urban sorcerer. They're quite rare to see, but very powerful. There’s a reason that the city affects you so much, Will. You’re connected to it, and it to you. In many ways, you are one and the same. Right now it’s directing you to its whims and rhythms, because you don’t know how to stop it, but once you learn to use your power properly, you’ll be able to bend to your will as easily as breathing.” His hands come up to tug gently at Will’s, carefully unwinding each finger from his hair until he’s gathered them all, pressed tightly between his own warm, powerful palms.

 "But- Sorcerers, they’re the most powerful kind of magician there is! They’re- Only fairies are more powerful than they are. I can’t possibly be a sorcerer, the only thing I’m good at is fixing things! Besides, if i was a sorcerer, Xephos would know. He’d have told me!”

 “Your uncle is a powerful, clever witch, but the realm of sorcery is foreign to him. If he has not told you, then most likely he has not realised what you are. The warning signs are subtle, and unless one knows to look for them they are difficult to see, and easy to dismiss as something else.”

 "There has to be done kind of mistake. I don't know _how_ to be a sorcerer!" Will knows he’s losing this argument, and honestly he doesn't know why he’s fighting this so hard, but to allow Kirin’s words to stand as truth terrifies him more than he can explain.

"That's why you've got me." Kirin’s smile is more gentle than Will’s ever seen it, and it fractures something in his chest, all the fight suddenly leaving him in one big rush as he falls forward against the solid warmth of Kirin’s chest.

  "I'll teach you everything you need to know. Now come on. While it’s not true that tea heals all ills, it certainly helps, and I’d say that you would definitely benefit from some right now."

 He shepherds an unresisting Will back into the kitchen and pours him a new mug of tea. Will drinks it without tasting it, lost in thought and staring absently out the window at the greenhouse; he doesn't know what to think about what Kirin’s told him. It doesn't seem possible, but if anyone would know, surely it would be him. Will has to admit that it’s definitely much more flattering than his own explanation for everything that’s been happening to him since he’d arrived in the city - only, if that’s true, then why is Will still so terrified?

 This second teatime goes much slower than the first; Will still trying to put his world back together around the information he’s been given, and Kirin seemingly content to sip his tea in silence and watch Will through curling wisps of steam rising from his mug. The look in his eyes is contemplative, and if Will looked he’d see the almost nostalgic expression on his face, but Will doesn't look. He’s thinking, as the tea disappears in slow, measured sips that fill him to the core with heat he hadn’t known he needed until he feels it flow back into him. By the time the mug is empty, he no longer feels like the world around him is going to fall through. He isn’t good, not yet, but he’s better, and for now better is enough. It can tide him over until he gets back home.

 “Thank you. For the tea. I’m sorry for freaking out like that. That wasn’t very… I’m sorry.” Meeting Kirin's eyes is more than Will's capable right now, so he addresses himself to his hands instead, where they’re clasped loosely around his empty mug.

 “There is no need to apologize, Will; it isn’t easy to find out that something you’ve always thought to be true is no longer so, especially when this truth pertains to yourself. I’m sorry that you had to find like this."

 "I think- What time is it? I should go.” Kirin's gentle kindness is more than he can bear right now, weighing down on him like a physical presence, and he needs to get out. He's grateful to him for being so understanding, but there's an itching in his bones telling him he needs to be alone right now. Preferably back in his room, so that he can scream into his pillow for a while until he's worked all of the... whatever it is that he's feeling, out of his system.

 “Oh course. It’s getting quite late. I’ll just go grab your tea.”

 “My- My tea, right. Thanks Kirin.” While Kirin disappears to go fetch the tea, Will gathers up his outdoor gear, lying forgotten on the chair next to him, and makes for the front door.

 Kirin meets there as Will is sliding into his coat, with a plastic bag in his hand bearing the stylised cauldron logo of his store.

 "Here's your tea, as promised. Before you go, just remember: you learned new information about yourself today that you think that will change your world, but it doesn't have to. Nothing has changed. You're still exactly the same person you were when you woke up this morning and you are by no means defined by this title that you been given. Remember that. You are William Strife, first and foremost, and you alone can dictate what that means. And be safe." He adds, handing Will his tea. "I will see you soon."

 "I will. Thanks Kirin."

 The bell rings loud and musical as Will pulls open the door, letting in a flood of cold air as he steps out into the snowy winter night. The city pounces on him eagerly the moment he sets foot outside, but he bats it away irritably; he's in no mood to deal with it right now.

 Still deep in thought and working through the events of the day, it takes a while to notice the shadow that's been tailing him since he left Kirin's shop. At first he thinks its just a trick of the light, but a quick check through a nearby security camera confirms his suspicions, showing a clear human form, edging ever nearer. Will picks up his pace as much as he can while still remaining unobtrusive, hoping to leave the figure behind, but they speed up as well, effortlessly matching his pace.

 Will isn't sure what to do. He's still too far from home to make running a viable option, but his brisk pace has left him too far away from Kirin's shop to allow him to double back. He looks around, hoping against hope that some passerby will be in a helpful mood, but the sidewalk is deserted. It's hardly late - the sun couldn't have set more than two hours ago - but the street couldn't be emptier. There aren't even any shops around for him to duck into; he'd left them behind when he'd left the main road. He’d hoped to cut through the residential streets, to get home faster, but now he's wishing he'd stuck to the main thoroughfare after all; it would have taken longer, but at least there would have been people.

 He stumbles and swears as a patch of ice nearly sends him headfirst into a snowdrift, forcing him into an impromptu interpretive dance just to stay on his feet. He swears again when a quick glance back over his shoulder reveals that whatever had been following him is no longer at its carefully-maintained twenty-foot distance - isn't, in fact, at any distance at all, having disappeared entirely from Will's sight. He waits for a long moment, as his pulse thunders in his ears and his breath fills the air in front of him with shifting curtains of white vapour, for the shape to make a reappearance, but it stays stubbornly out of sight, and finally he gives up.

 His toes are significantly more frozen as he starts moving again, and he’s all the more eager to get home now, but he's doesn't manage to make it much more than a single block before the streetlights around him suddenly dim, then flicker out entirely, plunging him into darkness. He reaches out to them, trying to ascertain what's wrong, but to his surprise, the problem isn't in the streetlights; they're still working perfectly, making just as much light as before. The darkness its something else; something is stopping their light from reaching him.

 There’s a sudden shift of air behind him, as a body materializes just over his shoulder, and he grabs two handfuls of light and heat from the bulb he'd been checking, lashing out with them as he turns, ready to burn and claw and fight until whatever's behind is no longer capable of following him. Once down at approximate eye-level, the light behaves like regular light once more, much to Will's relief, shining bright as it illuminates-

 " _Lying_?" Will is beyond fed up. He's cold, he's tired, and he's still more than a little confused, and all he wants is to be home and warm in his room. Instead, he's standing here in the winter darkness, as the snow piles up on his head and tries to find a way down his collar, and the winds blows through him like it's trying to slap him and hasn't quite figured out how, and he is in no mood for any more of Lying's cryptic ramblings and gruesome displays.

 "You'd better not try anything," he warns, "I can have every car alarm on this street going off before you can move."

 The bravado is entirely hollow; while the threat is genuine, the confidence is fake. He has no illusions about who would win if Lying _does_ try anything, but thankfully they don't seem to be doing much more than just standing there, rolling their eyes at his feeble bluff.

 "As if. Fret not little lamb, I couldn't lay a finger on you even if I wanted to. Not with _his_ boon of safe passage on you." They make a frustrated noise, wrinkling their nose in disgust. "I could smell on you since you left. It's hideous."

 They cock their head slightly to one side, eyes narrowing, and that's the only warning he gets before they launch themselves at him again. This time he's waiting for it though, and he brings his hands up in time, filling the space between them with bright sodium-orange light. It gives him a grim sort of satisfaction to see Lying shrink back from the light with an angry hiss.

 “Fool me twice, Lying. What do you want.”

 “Oh, I’ve just got a few tidbits I thought you’d like to hear. You were in that shop a positive age, by the way. Quite rude of you, to keep me waiting like that. Although you are from the backwater, so I suppose I might be asking for a bit much.”

 “Your. _Point_.” Will feeds a bit more power into the lights he’s holding, feeling them flare in response; his patience is wearing very thin, and he doesn't want to wait here all night for Lying to get over their apparent love for theatrics to get to their point.

 “Oh deary me. So _tetchy_. Very well; my point: you might think that the Green Guardian’s protection is infallible and eternal, but the day is fast approaching when his power will be tested. When that day comes, his hold on the city will break and, of course, things like him don’t fall lightly. If you don’t find some way out, he will drag you straight down with him, so if I were you I’d be searching for hole to hide in, and fast. And if you can't find any… Well. I’ll always have a way out. All you need to do is ask." They extend their hand towards him in a dramatic flourish, revealing a small faintly glowing apple the color of bleached bone, nestled neatly in their palm. Just the sight of it sends a shiver of cold up his spine, and Will stumbles back a step, unwilling to be anywhere near the thing.

 "What- What are you _talking_ about? What guardian? What day? Are you allergic to straight answers?"

 "It isn't _my_ fault you're too dense to understand. I'm doing you a _favour_. Telling you all this, giving you a way out; I don't _have_ do any of it. And what you with it all is up to you."

 "Keep your favours. I don't need anything from you; not your advice, and not your freaky glowy fruit. I can take care of myself. Now get out of my way."

 "Wrong on both counts, I'm afraid. Still, if you insist on remaining blind, I suppose I can't stop you. Remember this night. When he falls, and you find that the ground has fallen out from beneath your feet; remember my warning, and curse yourself for your stubbornness. Until then, give Honeydew my regards. It's been a while since he's been down to visit me; I might have to do something about that."

 Will opens his mouth to say something - possibly, to ask then how on _earth_ they know Honeydew - but Lying forestalls him with upraised palms.

 "Yes, yes, I know. 'Leave me alone, never speak to me again, I'm much too important for your very good and helpful advice.' I heard you. Don't worry, you won't be seeing me again for quite a long time, although I might be seeing you. Ta ta, William. Try to remember what I said." They fade from view, slowly, as Will splutters indignantly at their ridiculous, and frankly unfair, imitation of his voice. Their eyes and grin seem to hang in the air just a little too long after after the rest of them had disappeared, and Will swears that they wink at him, just before they fade entirely away.

 With their departure the light returns to the street, and Will shakily releases his own handfuls of the stuff back into the streetlight he'd borrowed it from. Lying seems to be properly gone this time, much to Will's relief, and he sees neither heads nor tails of them the entire way home.

 He does, however, catch their voice drifting on the wind as he approaches his front door, singing a song he knows will be repeating through his head all night, no matter how hard he tries to stop it.

 Kirin had a little lamb, a sorcerer named Will

Who came into our city bright to find himself a thrill

He met a witch named Lying, who scared him half to death

Ignoring their advice, quite soon he'll draw his final breath

 

 


End file.
